


shelter as we go

by dollsome



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greer, Castleroy, and two occasions involving a kiss on the hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shelter as we go

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case it wasn’t before, my devotion to Lord Castleroy is now officially real. I Wikipedia’d the history of pepper for you, man! ... Please don’t die of the plague or turn out to be a jerk.
> 
> Written for a prompt from netgirl-y2k on Tumblr: Greer/Castleroy and Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

_His name is Lord Castleroy,_ Greer tells herself firmly.  _Lord Castleroy._ Not _Peppercorn._

And yet he insists upon suiting the nickname Leith provided so well.

“Lord Castleroy,” Greer says; perhaps she over-pronounces the syllables a tad awkwardly. To make up for it, she puts on her best smile. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Lady Greer,” Lord Castleroy answers sincerely. “Such a pleasure, truly.” For a moment he only stares at her, a smitten softness in his eyes. He may look like more of a sheep than a man with those woolly grey-white curls, but he does have kind eyes. And he may be boring beyond description, but Greer senses that there's no malice in him. It's more than can be said for some men. Many men, even.

She offers her hand. He clasps it for a moment – long enough for her to notice that his own hand trembles slightly, the poor dear – and then brings it to his lips. His mustache tickles her skin.

“I hope you've been well,” Greer says politely.

“Very well,” Lord Castleroy reports. “And never better than now. For you see, I have something of great interest to tell you.” 

“Do you?” Greer's curiosity piques, wondering what it might be. A proposal, perhaps. Even a tawdry piece of gossip would suit, though, really. Just as long as it gives them a chance to talk like  _people_. Just as long as it's not about—

“You recall you asked me about Pliny the Elder's remarks in Natural History on the price of black pepper at that time, and I did not have the exact figure. I've checked my library, and I'm glad to inform you that my memory is quite refreshed now—” Her expression must be less convincing than she'd hoped, for his face falls. “But I'm boring you. I shan't go on if it bores you.”

“No, please do,” Greer insists automatically, silently cursing all things pepper. “I—I find it so fascinating.”

“Do you?” he asks hopefully.

“Pepper!” Greer exclaims, trying with all her might to sound overjoyed, and throws in a bit of giddy laughter to try to salvage the situation. She even waves her hands around a bit. Dear God.

Lord Castleroy laughs along, encouraged, and they grin desperately at each other for a few seconds before sinking back into quiet.

It's miserably awkward.

“And, um,” Greer says at last, “what was the price of the black pepper, then?”

“Four denarii,” Lord Castleroy reports.

“Good to know,” Greer says faintly.

Lord Castleroy takes it as encouragement. He stares thoughtfully at her for a moment longer, then clears his throat. “Er—long pepper, of course, was more highly prized at the time, due to ...”

Greer holds back a sigh.

+

“I'm sorry,” Greer says, holding back tears. It's not worth crying over, not really. She's gotten what she asked for. But the ridiculousness of it—! The world does not seem content to fall to pieces around them in only grand ways. As if the plague weren't bad enough. Now even her marriage is poised to crumble.

“Why?” Lord Castleroy asks wearily. “Did you have a hand in the match?”

“Of course not,” Greer says, impatient. “But—”

“Then you have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupts, his voice firm.

He is always so quick to absolve her of any blame. She still hasn't puzzled out quite how to react to that. After growing up in her father's household, she is as used to being called wrong as she is to breathing.

“He must be doing it to get back at me,” she muses, her thoughts racing. “To get back at both of us. And yet it's so unlike him – I swear, the Leith I knew would never ... But that was before I broke his heart. Still, I can't believe he would play with your daughter's affections for revenge. Perhaps—” And in a way, this hurts the most of all. She takes a breath, willing her voice steady. “Perhaps he really does care for her.”

“For Yvette's sake, I hope so,” Lord Castleroy replies, frowning slightly, “but for yours ...”

“Please don't worry about me on that score. I'm yours. Really.”

“If he does ask for my daughter's hand, he will become a permanent fixture in our lives.”

“I won't be unfaithful, if that's what you mean,” Greer says, a little sharply. “I keep my promises.”

“No, no,” he says, with such easy trust that it makes her heart ache. She wants so badly to prove herself worthy of it. “Not that. But to have him a part of the family, to have him constantly about, to be so often reminded of what you lost – could you bear it?”

“I can bear a great deal,” Greer says stonily.

“But you shouldn't have to,” he protests, the words so simple and sincere that she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “I don't want you to.”

Caught between exasperation and fondness, she asks, “Must you always be so kind?”

“Would you like me to be cruel?” he replies with a slight smile.

She sighs. “I might know better what to do with it.”

He goes quiet for a moment, staring at her thoughtfully. She had never dared to hope for that quality in the man she’d marry. She’d never expected a husband who would look at her and _see_ her.

“I know what it's like to lose the one you love,” he says. “It haunts you. After my wife's death, traces of her remained everywhere. We’d built a life together, after all. We married young, and we were wed so long that I never quite had the opportunity to master the art of charming women I didn’t know. Which,” he adds, smiling, “I suspect was apparent.”

“Maybe a little,” Greer admits good-naturedly.

“After she died, I almost wished those hints of her gone, if only so I could pretend I’d never had her to lose.” His bittersweet smile shifts into something more serious. “It won’t be like that for you. He’ll always be there, flesh and blood, a reminder of what you’ve lost. Could you bear that?”

In truth, she doesn’t know.

But there is one thing she’s becoming more and more sure of by the day.

“You're forgetting something,” she tells him.

“Am I?”

“I’m not alone. I have you. I chose you.” She takes his hand. “How can I be unhappy, with such a husband?”

“You needn't lie to me,” he says gently.

“I’m not,” Greer says—and that, at least, she means. She brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles lightly. When she meets his eyes again, it’s to find such love in them. “I’m not,” she says again, surer.

He smiles. She hasn’t tired yet of the way he goes rather starry-eyed at the sight of her. She hopes it isn’t something that will fade with the years.

“Of course,” he adds, “if Leith’s attentions toward Yvette aren’t motivated by true affection ...”

“Then it falls under my purview as stepmother and defender of my own sex to tear him to pieces,” Greer finishes primly.

“Good. Then it’s sorted.” Lord Castleroy chuckles. “I have no doubt you’re the more formidable force in this marriage.”

“Do you know, you’re a very wise man,” Greer says, laughing, and is glad for the momentary comfort of his laughter joining hers. If the end of the world has found them here, at least she has his hand to hold.


End file.
